


Highway to Hell

by limmenel (elevenoclock)



Category: Drive (TV 2007), Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-20
Updated: 2007-04-20
Packaged: 2020-11-02 05:04:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenoclock/pseuds/limmenel
Summary: Sam and Dean have been doing what they do for too long for The Race to be their first priority, and Winston and Sean have no idea what they're getting themselves into.





	Highway to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with bedlamsbard on Livejournal back in 2007.

"Nice wheels," Dean says in a low voice, flicking an appreciative eye over the other Impala as it pulls up. He's leaning against the door of the driver's side, next to Sam, who's half in and half out of the backseat with his laptop balanced carefully on his knees.  
  
"Yours too," the stranger says once he's out of the car. "What is that, sixty-eight? Sixty-nine?"  
  
"Sixty-seven," Dean says easily, and offers a hand. "Dean Winchester. This is my kid brother Sam."  
  
"Hey," Sam says half-heartedly, but gets up and shakes the racer's hand anyway.  
  
"Winston Salazar," the other man offers. "And this is Sean."  
  
"I'm his brother," Sean adds, but he sounds dubious about it.  
  
-  
-  
  
It's three days later that Dean's cell phone rings somewhere between Chattanooga and Nashville. Not the black one, which sits between him and Sam on the center console, but the battered silver one that rings with Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven".  
  
Sam answers it.  
  
Two minutes later, they pull off at the first exit in a squeal of tires and a rumble of engine. Winston and Sean stare at them for a split second, then Sean opens his mouth.  
  
"No way, hombre," Winston says, cutting him off.  
  
"They could be in trouble," Sean says. "We should make sure. C'mon."  
  
Winston sighs, but he yanks the wheel, cuts off a little red Toyota, and barely makes the exit ramp. After all, it'd be a shame if anything was wrong with that sweet ride of theirs.  
  
-  
-  
  
"We make it quick," Dean says, leaning over the trunk of the Impala. He pulls out a machete, tosses it up into the air and catches it coming down, then jams it into the back of his belt, next to the pistol he's got holstered there. Sam slings their small weapons duffle over his shoulder and picks up a shotgun.  
  
The woods shake with the soundless roar of a...well, a whatever it is. All Jack said was that it was big, nasty, and ate people. And caused storms. Couldn't be too bad, right?  
  
Sam is jumpy enough he nearly shoots Jack's head off when he steps on a twig coming into the clearing. "Sorry," he offers, lowering the shotgun.  
  
Jack sidles a careful step to the side, nearer Dean than Sam. "Don't bother. We've all heard the stories. I'm just glad you boys were in the neighborhood. You bringing backup?"  
  
Dean stares at him. "What?"  
  
-  
-  
  
The two of them turn at the same time, following Jack's eyes to a point behind them. And, sure enough, they've got guests.  
  
"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me," Dean says, annoyance and sheer "what the hell" in his tone. Because there's only one Impala on earth that looks like that, and he thought they'd be long on their way to the next checkpoint by now.  
  
"You guys alright?" Sean is out of the car before the engine's off, eyes wide. Worried. Not an emotion that has much place in this kind of race.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam realizes he isn't going to be any help at all. "We're fine," he says. "Don't worry. Get back on the road, you're losing time."  
  
-  
-  
  
  
"So're you, man," Winston says, shoving open the Impala's door and leaning on the roof as he steps out. His eyes are on the shotgun Sam's still holding, interested and suspicious and just a bit calculating.  
  
Dean picks out the assault rifle he'd picked up a couple towns up out of the trunk and knocks the shotgun holding up the door out, lets it slam shut and turns around. "Don't bother sticking around," he says. "You'll be breathing our exhaust again soon enough."  
  
Sean is staring at the weaponry. "What are you?" he asks, wide-eyed. He sneaks a look over at Winston, like he's waiting for some kind of cue.  
  
-  
-  
  
  
If there's one thing Sam's good at, it's reading people. He's been doing it all his life, reading his dad when he's in a bad mood, reading the people around him to know what's normal and what's not, when there's danger. He sees Winston staring at the gun in his hands, sees the look of recognition, maybe, or at least the lack of surprise and fear.  
  
"Get going," he says again, no longer worried that they'll call the cops once they're back in the car. "You're losing time. Don't want that father-daughter team in the Ford POS to pass you. We'll see you at the checkpoint."  
  
And yet, the Salazar brothers seem unconvinced by his words, Sam thinks as he watches them. No surprise there. Dammit, why do they always get stuck dealing with regular people at times like this?  
  
-  
-  
  
  
The -- Christ, whatever it is -- roars again. It's soundless, but the force of it sends the trees bending nearly sideways and Sam staggers into Dean, who's leaning hard into the car. Sean falls back onto the hood of the Impala and Winston grabs on hard and manages to keep his footing. Jack's as calm as if he was in his own house at home, swaying a little with the wind but not too badly -- easier than most of the trees, anyway. Dean can feel the vibrations along the forest floor curl up through his boots and along his legs.  
  
"You two," he orders, pointing at Sean. "Stay here, if you're not going to get back on the road." He frowns at Winston for a moment, then yanks the trunk open again and tosses a shotgun to Winston. "Try not to shoot any of us." He turns away without glancing back, and Sam and Jack follow him.  
  
-  
-  
  
  
Winston catches the gun on reflex and stares at it for a long moment, surprised and unused to the feel of metal in his hands after so long. Then he looks up, meets Sean's eyes, and sees something in there that he forces himself to ignore.  
  
Sam, Dean, and the third guy (creepy SOB, Winston thinks) are already heading into the forest.  
  
"You've gotta be shittin' me, homez," he mutters. Meeting Sean's eyes again, he cocks the shotgun, slams the door of the Impala. "C'mon, lil' brother, we just gonna stand here and wait?"  
  
Sean hesitates. But, then, he thinks, these two are as close to friends as they're going to get in this race. And something's not right. And dammit if he's going to let Winston go off after them alone. "Yeah," he says, digging through the glove box and pulling out the 9 mm that he stuck in there, the one he took from his father's house.  
  
-  
-  
  
  
"That is one big bitch," Dean says, raising the assault rifle to his shoulder.  
  
The -- whatever the fuck it is, he's still not sure -- is curled up in a clearing, scaled head tucked against its side. The roaring? That's apparently fucking _snoring_.  
  
"Think a headshot'll do it?" Dean mutters under his breath to Sam. The bullets are half the size of his fist, rolled in holy water blessed with a silver crucifix. If the blessing doesn't take the big bitch out, the bullets will. If they don't, well, Dean's got a grenade or two tucked away in the bag Sam's carrying.  
  
Sam shrugs. "Worth a try."  
  
Dean sights down the barrel, squinting. All he wants is to kill this thing fast and get back on the road, before the Salazars get curious and come after them. And besides, if the bitch is what he thinks it is, the teeth'll fetch a nice price on the black market as protective charms.  
  
-  
-  
  
  
"The _fuck_ is that?"  
  
Dean's grip on his gun slips at the words. Sam starts, turning half-way, not willing to turn his back entirely on a creature that big. In the clearing, the creature shifts.  
  
Everyone freezes.  
  
The creature rolls onto it's back, snuffs hard enough to knock branches loose around them, sticks hailing down. But the eyes don't open, and a moment of tension passes far too slowly before any of them are willing to move an inch.  
  
"What the hell are you two doing here?" Dean hisses.  
  
The creature lets out another snore, and the trees around them shake like twigs.  
  
-  
-  
  
  
Dean hisses out a breath through his teeth. "Get 'em outta here, Jack," he says softly. "Sammy, get the grenades."  
  
"The _what_?" Sean bursts out, startled, and the bitch raises one clawed hind leg, stretching out toward the small group. Toward them --  
  
Sean stares at it, entranced.  
  
Jack is at his side before Dean can see him move, taking the nine mil neatly out of his hand. "You should be careful with that thing," he says. "Might hurt someone."  
  
"Hey --" Sean says automatically, voice indignant, and maybe there's some pitch he hits that starts it all, but the bitch's head jerks up, big eyes open and very, very blue.  
  
-  
-  
  
Dean shoves the Salazar brothers to the back of his mind, because there's a big fucking _thing_ staring at them, and breathing hard enough to cause a small earthquake.  
  
"Grenades, Sammy," he says, and he's proud that his voice only quivers a tiny bit.  
  
"Don't call me Sammy," Sam says, glaring, but he's already dropped to his knees, digging through their duffel bag, frantically searching for the grenades.  
  
"What the hell is that thing?" Winston asks again. He's gripping the shotgun like a lifeline, but his eyes are focused on the monster, and he looks too distracted to use it.  
  
"Jack," Dean says, his voice laced with urging. "Get them outta here. Sam, where're those grenades?"  
  
-  
-  
  
"Dean!" Sam says, glancing up, and Dean looks over in time to see the grenade in his hand.  
  
"On my cue, Sammy," Dean says, sighting down the barrel. Behind him, he can hear Jack trying to shuffle Sean and Winston off, and then he forces the sound away, focusing on the gun and one of those blue eyes.  
  
He sees the moment when the bitch opens her mouth -- sharp, glittering teeth -- yeah, he was right; he compartmentalizes the thought, calculates the price those teeth will fetch on the market absently. Dean fires before she can roar, the rifle kicking lightly against his shoulder.  
  
"Sammy, now!" he yells, as the head jerks backwards from the impact of the shot, and Sam lobs the grenade into the cavity of the creature's mouth. The teeth will withstand the explosion; the tissue won't.  
  
-  
-  
  
Maybe it's just that Sam has a good throwing arm, or that they've slung grenades at things far too often, or maybe it's just sheer dumb luck, but the grenade arches through the air and lands right in the creature's open mouth.  
  
A few think happen in quick succession. The beast goes still, puzzling out what the hell it just ate. The little earthquake around them slows and almost stops as the creature does, and Sam and Dean exchange a look and fling themselves away from the (soon to explode) creature, pushing Sean and Winston ahead of them.  
  
"What's going on?" Sean asks again, and he's starting to sound like a broken record, although at least he hasn't screamed in fear or had a nervous breakdown. Yet.  
  
Sam's counting under his breath. "Four, three, two," and before he can say "one", sound breaks through the forest, a roaring of a different kind, as heat and explosion erupt behind them.  
  
-  
-  
  
Dean goes for Sam on instinct and pushes him down to the ground, throwing himself over his brother's back even though they'd probably be better off if they reversed positions. He doesn't stop to check if Winston's got Sean or not.  
  
Hot flesh and thick gouts of blood, sharp scales and sharper teeth, shower down around them. Dean winces past the pain as one of the bitch's teeth embeds in his shoulder, again as a scale slices the back of his neck. Sam is utterly still -- he's used to this, knows the status quo well enough not to struggle when it's in his best interest, or when he has a chance of dying if he does -- but he abruptly shoves Dean away, muttering, "Get off, Dean," and they both roll to their feet.  
  
Winston's got Sean shoved down behind a tree, Jack's -- elsewhere, Christ knows -- and when Sam starts making enough noise to wake the dead they come out, wary. What, like he hasn't been trained within an inch of his life.  
  
Winston is staring blankly around at the bitch's corpse and the pieces of skull and flesh lying around. "You got some explaining to do, hombre," he says.  
  
Dean reaches around to try and get the tooth out of his shoulder, can't quite get his fingers around and says, "Sam," instead, impatiently.  
  
-  
-  
  
Sam rolls his eyes, but complies with Dean's unspoken demand. "Such a girl," he says under his breath. "It's not that deep. I'll get you a band-aid when we get back in the car."  
  
Dean yanks away, glaring over his (uninjured) shoulder. "Let's just get the damn teeth, maybe get a good deal for 'em in the next town we hit, pay for gas for a while." He stalks off, back towards the clearing, calling for Jack as he goes.  
  
Leaving Sam alone with the Salazar brothers. Sam makes a mental note to thank him later by hiding his Metalica tapes in the trunk.  
  
"So, you gonna explain this, bro, or what?" Winston asks.  
  
Sean looks around, warily, like he expects another monster to appear suddenly. "So, um," he says. "That... that was, what, exactly?"  
  
Sam sighs, and starts explaining.  
  
-  
-  
  
Dean comes back ten minutes later, holding the bloodstained duffle out in front of him gingerly. It's bulging where it wasn't before, this time with teeth and bits of bone and scale, not weapons. The blood's faintly acidic and it burns where it's touched his skin -- give it another couple hours and it'll have eaten through his jacket and the thick canvas of the duffle, but for now it's good. He'll just have to transfer it to one of the lockboxes in the trunk. He'd package the blood, too; it's worth something, but the collection's too much trouble -- besides, they don't want the Impala to smell more like a slaughterhouse than it already does.  
  
Sam's explained, he sees. Probably badly, knowing his brother. Winston and Sean are both regarding him with some new kind of respect or something -- Sean wide-eyed, Winston narrow-eyed. Or maybe it's just the way Dean looks, covered in blood and flesh and flecks of bone, hair sticking up in spikes around his face from the drying blood. Christ, he needs a shower.  
  
"Here, baby brother," he says, tossing Sam the duffle. He's got the assault rifle and the shotgun Sam dropped slung across his good shoulder -- both are rank and covered with God knows what, of course.  
  
Experimentally, he works his bad shoulder. There's a bite there -- bitch's blood (technically, they'd figured out a couple years back that it was probably some kind of hybrid Chinese dragon, but he doesn't care that much so long as all he has to do to kill it is shoot it) worked deep into the flesh from the tooth. Back of his neck is burning badly too. "Holy water?" he says, fairly certain they've got a good stash going in the back of the car.  
  
-  
-  
  
Sam catches the bag, holding it a few inches from his body as though he expects it to come to life and attack him, or eat through his skin. "It was in the bag," he says, hefting it, "but I'm not sticking my hand in there now. There's some in the car."  
  
Dean shakes a string of... something he doesn't really want to consider from his arm, resists the urge to scratch his head where the blood is starting to dry. "There's a gas station a few exits up," he says, remembering a sign on the side of the road just before they'd exited. "I gotta get this shit offa me."  
  
Sean and Winston are following the conversation with expressions that vary between curious and freaked out. Dean doesn't blame them. It's not every day that learn that demons exist.  
  
"You're taking this well," Dean says, shrugging out of his jacket, wincing as his shoulder throbs with pain. He glances over at Winston, meeting his eyes for a moment.  
  
"Naw, man," comes the reply. "I'm just as freaked out as he is," he motions to Sean. "But damn if my momma didn't tell me about demons and shit when we went to Church." He laughs, and Dean knows he's covering up his fear, trying to look tougher than he feels. Knows this because he does the same thing.  
  
-  
-  
  
"That wasn't a demon," Dean says. Isn't really sure why he says it, a moment later when he realizes, but he can still remember yellow, yellow eyes. Hopes to God they don't run into one of those on The Race.  
  
"You might as well go on and get back on the road," Sam says, reading the expression Dean's face. He reaches up with his free hand to wipe a smear of dark blood off his forehead. "We'll see you at the checkpoint; you don't need to waste anymore time."  
  
"Yeah, I bet," Winston says, eyeing the mess on Sam and Dean. Not as bad on Sam, but Dean knows he looks like he just walked out of a butchershop. He'll be lucky if they even let him in the gas station.  
  
Jack walks out from behind a tree, holding a silver flask in one hand and Sean's pistol in the other. He looks like he's just walked out of a bathhouse. Some days, he really creeps Dean out.  
  
"You might want this," he tells Sean dryly, handing the pistol out with the barrel pointed towards the ground.  
  
-  
-  
  
Sean takes the gun, almost drops it before he gets a good enough grip on it. Sam makes a mental note to teach the kid to at least hold and aim the damn thing, because he looks like he learned about guns from watching too much TV.  
  
Winston gives them a long look, trying to figure out if they're going to die from monster blood before the checkpoint, trying to figure out just what the hell just happened. But he nods, finally, and grabs Sean's arm, tugging his brother away.  
  
"Don't worry," Dean says, smirking, when Sean seems hesitant to leave. "We're gonna catch up soon enough, and then you'll regret not getting back on the road sooner when you're eating our exhaust."  
  
The Salazar brothers both grin at this, accepting the challenge, and turn to head back to their car.  
  
-  
-  
  
"Thanks for coming in," Jack says.  
  
"Yeah, sure," Dean says. He squints at the flask the other hunter's holding. "No chance that's whiskey, is it?"  
  
Jack glances down at the flask as if he's surprised. "No, blood," he says, after a long enough pause Dean has to wonder if he remembers. He digs in his coat, comes up with another flask. "That one's tequila. Or holy water, one of the two."  
  
"Thanks," Dean says, knocking back a healthy swallow that burns all the way down. Better with salt, but -- unless he really wants to dig rock salt out of the bag, that's a no go. He passes the flask over to Sam.  
  
"There's a new road, out by I-90," Jack says casually. "Not open yet, but the asphalt's set. Faster."  
  
Dean and Sam both turn to stare at him. "Thanks," Sam says eventually, and passes the flask back.  
  
_end_


End file.
